


What's in a Name?

by ephemeraltea



Series: I Burn, I Pine, I Perish [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Top Dorian Pavus, but as soon as there's a hot guy he's a mess, he can turn it on for Inquisitor Business, my headcanon that Inquisitor Trevelyan is not suave AT ALL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraltea/pseuds/ephemeraltea
Summary: The Inquisitor contemplates his complete inability to be subtle as he pines after the resident Tevinter mage. Meanwhile, Dorian realizes he never actually learned the Inquisitor's real name.And later, Dorian has feelings and doesn't know how to handle them.*bumping up to M since it seems to be going in that direction*





	1. Chapter 1

_ You’re not exactly subtle, oh Lord Inquisitor. _

The words had kept repeating in Tre’s head for their entire trip back to Skyhold, the memory filling him with a kind of embarrassment that he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. The words hurt because he knew they were true -- Tre had never been subtle about anything, and especially not about flirting. His interest in Dorian had been abundantly obvious to everyone from the start when he, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric had first met Dorian in the Chantry and helped him close the rift there.

Tre could still remember it perfectly -- the way Dorian’s hair fell into his deep, dark eyes; the side of Dorian’s mouth turning up in a mischievous smirk. Thinking about it still caused an ache of wanting deep in Tre’s stomach. Dorian was so beautiful and Tre knew he had been openly gaping. When the rift was shut, Tre had stammered like a fool. He was pretty sure he had actually giggled, and he practically swooned when Dorian disappeared into the shadows.

“Don’t worry, Glowy, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him,” Varric had said, grinning.

“Wha?” Tre had slurred cluelessly. When he had turned around, his three companions were all staring at him. Cassandra’s eyebrows had raised so high that they were tickling her hairline.

“Right,” Tre had said, clearing his throat. “Shall we get on then?”

Tre knew in that moment that his secret was out. Not that his being gay was a secret, exactly --that would imply that he was capable of controlling his face enough to hide his attraction to men. Tre’s family was accepting enough -- though granted, he was the third child and being groomed to be a templar, so relationships of any sort weren’t even supposed to happen (at least on the record). Actually, Tre had never talked to his family about it all explicitly. Still, he knew they knew. Tre often wondered what would have happened if he had been the first child. Would his family be so willing to turn a blind eye? Would they want to change him? Like Dorian’s father wanted to change Dorian?

It was too horrible to think about. Poor Dorian.

It was selfish for Tre to be dwelling on his non-relationship with Dorian right now. Sure, he had been starting to hope that maybe Dorian had been interested in him in return. Dorian seemed to enjoy the attention Tre paid him, and he flirted back enough. But it had been over two months since Dorian had joined the Inquisition, and nothing more than mild flirtation had happened between them. Tre had been waiting for Dorian to make the first move -- it didn’t feel right as the Inquisitor to push his interest onto Dorian any more than he already had. But Tre should have taken the hint a long time ago, after the fourth or fifth time that Dorian passed on the perfect moment to kiss him. Tre had wanted to believe, in spite of how obvious it was to the others, and how obvious he thought he was being, that maybe Dorian didn’t know Tre was interested in men.

_ You’re not exactly subtle, oh Lord Inquisitor _ .

Well, that ruled  _ that _ out.

Which meant only one thing: Dorian was entirely aware of Tre’s interest to the fullest degree, and had chosen not to act on it. Dorian’s flirtations were part of his witty banter and flamboyant personality, nothing more. He’d just been too polite (or worse, too afraid) to tell the newly-appointed head of the Inquisition that he wasn’t interested in him.

Another wave of embarrassment washed over Tre and he groaned as he rubbed his hands over his face and close-cropped hair. He had been an idiot.

Tre didn’t hold any negative feelings toward Dorian about the rejection in the least. It wasn’t Dorian’s fault he wasn’t interested. And when Dorian had spoken with such sarcasm, he had been at the height of emotional distress with his father -- come to think of it, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to come out officially to Dorian in that moment. Why had it taken him the entire trip back to Skyhold to figure that out? 

Anyway, Tre didn’t doubt at all that Dorian would have let him down easier had he been given the chance. He just wished he had caught onto the whole thing sooner.

Tre took a couple of deep breathes at the base of the stairs leading to the library.

“Inquisitor?” said Solas curiously.

“I’m fine, Solas,” said Tre. “Sorry -- I was just --” he pointed awkwardly up the stairs.

Solas looked like he was trying hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” said Tre. “Talk to you later, Solas.”

“Very well.”

Who in their right mind ever thought it was a good idea to make Tre the leader of the Inquisition? Sure, he could be well spoken, but at times like this it felt like there was a fifty-fifty chance that he would either make a brilliant speech or drool on himself. He hoped he could pull himself together by the time he got to the top of the stairs.. 

Dorian only turned a fraction of an inch when Tre walked to the opening of his alcove in the library. Dorian had been quiet all the way back to Skyhold, and Tre hadn’t pushed him to talk. He thought he understood enough about Dorian to know that he would speak when we was ready.

“He says we’re alike,” began Dorian, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation. Tre adored that about him (he mentally shook himself for starting down that path again -- Dorian needed a  _ friend _ right now). “Too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear that. Now I’m not certain. I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

“Are you alright?” said Tre.

“No, not really,” Dorian said. He looked over his shoulder briefly, then turned to face Tre directly.

“Thank you for bringing me out there,” said Dorian. “It wasn’t what I expected, but...it’s something. Maker knows what you must think of me after that whole display.”

Dorian had bowed his head a little sheepishly, and he glanced at Tre with his doe-like brown eyes. He looked so vulnerable and so beautiful that Tre felt the ache return to his stomach. He wanted to kiss Dorian so badly that he felt his chest would burst.

_ A friend, _ Tre reminded himself sternly, stopping himself at the last moment from taking a step forward.   _ He needs a friend right now _ .

“I think you’re very brave,” Tre said. It wasn’t what he had wanted to say, but it was true.

“Brave?” said Dorian, his face riddled with surprise.

“It’s not easy to abandon tradition and walk your own path,” said Tre. He knew something about that.

Dorian looked at him curiously, and then his face softened. He looked touched -- and more importantly, he looked briefly comforted. Tre smiled fully and sincerely. He liked being that person for Dorian, whatever form it took.

“At any rate,” said Dorian, “time to drink myself into a stupor. It’s been that sort of day. Join me sometime, if you’ve a mind.”

Yesterday Tre would have read into that invitation. He would have dissected all of the ways that Dorian asking him to share a bottle of wine as evidence that Tre was slowly winning him over. 

_ You’re not exactly subtle, oh Lord Inquisitor. _

“I’ve got to meet up with Josie about some politics or other -- maybe another time.”

* * *

 

The Inquisitor was being oddly distant. Dorian wasn’t used to that. Ever since they had time-traveled together and Dorian had joined the Inquisition, he and their fearless leader had been getting on quite well. They had been having dinner together nearly every night, and Tre would usually stop by the library at least once a day. But it had been three days now, and Dorian had barely seen any more than the swish of the Inquisitor’s coat as he ran from corner to corner of Skyhold.

Had it been the encounter with his father? Had Tre been more bothered by the spectacle than he had let on? Tre had said that he thought Dorian brave, and he seemed to have meant it. But then why the sudden disappearing act?

Dorian didn’t like this. He wasn’t used to caring about what other people thought of him.

He finally tracked Tre down at Josephine’s desk outside of the corridor to the war room. Josephine was nowhere to be seen, and Tre was sitting on the corner of her desk, surrounded by papers and looking exhausted.

“The elusive Inquisitor,” said Dorian, leaning against the desk next to him.

“Hi,” said Tre, looking up, eyes bright, a not-quite-sincere smile straining his face.

“You don’t have to do that with me,” said Dorian.

“Do what?” said Tre.

“Act all bright and energetic, as if you wouldn’t kill for a nap right now.”

“We do enough killing, I think,” said Tre, his face softening back into tiredness.

Dorian wasn’t sure why, but it bothered him that Tre looked so grim. He decided he needed to sit down Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine and give them a talking-to about the importance of letting their Inquisitor have the occasional day off. They were going to work him to death, the way they were pushing him.

The Inquisitor’s eyes returned to the top of a stack of parchment he was reading, and Dorian looked over his shoulder.

“Who’s ‘Mercutio’?” said Dorian, reading the name of the letter’s recipient.

Tre turned toward Dorian with a look of mild amusement mixed with something that might have been incredulity.

“That’s me,” Tre said.

“What?” said Dorian.

“That’s my name.” Tre was looking at Dorian curiously. He continued to sound mildly amused, but there was something else there, too. Annoyance? “Did you think my parents named me Tre Trevelyan?”

“I -- honestly hadn’t thought of much of it,” said Dorian. “The Free Marches continue to be a mystery to me.”

Tre laughed, but it was strange. Short and broken, lacking the usual warmth.

“I’ve got to get back to work,” he said, turning back to the letter.

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. That was clearly a dismissal. Tre had never gone “Inquisitor” on him like that before. Dorian opened his mouth to retort, but just as he did, Josephine came bustling through the door, arms stacked with more letters and ink smeared on the tip of her nose. Tre rose to greet her. He didn’t pay any mind to Dorian as he stood and walked out.

“Did you know his name was Mercutio?” Dorian asked Varric by way of greeting as he passed the dwarf on his way back to the library.

“The Inquisitor?” said Varric. “Yeah, he mentioned it. Or Cassandra told me, maybe. Why do you ask, Sparkler?” Varric’s eyes narrowed and he looked sidelong at Dorian in that infuriatingly way he did to show he was too good at getting the read on people.

“No reason,” said Dorian, making to walk passed through the door.

“It’s just -- the Inquisitor rushes passed here at least twice a day just to say hi to you,” said Varric, stepping to block Dorian’s way. “He says he’s going to drop off research, or to ask Leliana to send a message, or whatever errand he comes up with. But you’re the real reason.”

“Your point, Varric?” said Doran, feeling distinctly annoyed now.

“That boy has an entire Inquisition to run, but goes out of his way every day to make time for you. I’m just surprised that you never took the time to learn his name.”

***

“Mercutio, innit?” said Sera when Dorian asked. “Not sure how to spell it, but I think that’s how you say it. Weird one, innit? I like Tre better. Or Herald. Though I guess he’s Inquisitor now. Bit lofty. Don’t like it.”

***

“Names don’t matter that much,” said Bull. “None of my charges go by their given name. We give each other names, or give ourselves names. Either way, doesn’t matter.”

“But do you know it?” asked Dorian.

“Oh, well, sure, it’s Mercutio.”

***

  
Dorian had some apologizing to do.


	2. Chapter 2

It was late in the evening when Tre returned to his quarters and found the bottle of wine leaning against his door with a note attached.

_Mercutio -_

_I’m a self-absorbed asshole. Please accept this offering as a part of the apology I owe you. I’ve got the glasses if you’ve got the time._

_\- Dorian_

Tre sighed, and smiled in spite of himself.

“You know,” he said a few minutes later as he leaned against one of the shelves of Dorian’s alcove, “technically this is the Inquisition’s wine. And since I’m the head of said Inquisition, you’re gifting me something I already own.”

Dorian smiled from his chair, closed the book he was reading, and reached around to the windowsill for the two empty wine glasses there.

“Well, the gift is less the wine as it is my company,” he said, holding the glasses out. “And by ‘my company,’” he amended, “I mean my chance to apologize and show you that I can talk about something other than myself.”

“Dorian, you don’t have to --”

“Though it does explain why I had such a hard time finding you in the lineage books. Here I was assuming all of the copies from the Trevelyan line were out of date.”

“You tried to look me up?”

“Of course I did,” said Dorian. “Though I’m realizing now that I could have just asked you about yourself, if I was curious. A bit dim of me, in retrospect.”

“It’s not all on you,” said Tre, pouring them each a generous glass of wine. “You’ve been a nice escape.”

“Have I?” said Dorian, one eyebrow raising. Tre’s stomach flipped.

“From Inquisition...things,” said Tre awkwardly. He took a long drink. “Being in the middle of this -- so much of it is about me. What _I_ think we should do. What _I_ think we should stand for. And then meeting with the nobles -- they want to know where I’m from, who I am. They want to get to know me. Well, no, they don’t _really_ want to get to know me, but they want to hear me talk about myself in a way that makes them feel like I’m confiding in them. Anyway, It’s nice to have a break and be able to _not_ talk about myself. And you….”

“Adore talking about myself,” said Dorian.

That was not at all what Tre had been thinking. He had been about to say “and you’re wonderful.” Dorian likely would have taken it in stride, deflecting from the sentiment underneath by declaring his ostentatious agreement. So instead of finishing his sentence, the Inquisitor laughed and raised his glass to Dorian. Dorian clinked their glasses together.

“Why don’t you go by Mercutio?” Dorian asked.

“When I started my training with the rest of the templar recruits, I was the only Trevelyan there. Some of the other recruits started shortening it, and it just stuck,” Tre said. “When I reacted before -- I was just stressed. It’s not like anyone uses my real name. It’s kind of a mouthful.”

Dorian raised his eyebrow again, this time much more suggestively. Tre choked on his wine, causing Dorian to laugh uproariously.

“You’re a menace,” said Tre when he had stopped coughing.

“It’s true, I won’t deny it,” said Dorian, leaning back in his chair and looking smug. “Now be a good boy and answer the questions I should absolutely already know the answers to by now.”

Tre sat on the windowsill and poured himself some more wine.

“Did you want to be a templar?” asked Dorian.

Tre was caught off guard by that question -- he couldn’t recall anyone ever asking him that. He had expected Dorian to start with something a little more basic, like his favorite food. Then again, Dorian didn’t do anything basic. Tre took a long drink as he thought quietly on how to answer.

“I wanted to make my family happy,” he said after a moment. “I didn't want to disappoint them. But honestly?”

“Honestly,” said Dorian.

“I didn’t want to be a templar. I know a lot of horrible things have happened, and a lot of people have died. I know the rift in the sky means that the world is ending, and I’m not happy about any of that -- but I’m so relieved that the Inquisition happened, and that I got dragged into it. I’m so relieved to have a reason to stop training for good. Seeing Cullen…Anyway, I was never good at the heavy armor, sword-and-shield kind of fighting. I prefer the sneaky-sneaky stab-stab.”

“Sneaky-sneaky stab-stab?” said Dorian, smiling.

“It’s a technical term,” said Tre.

“And did you ever....?” Dorian trailed off.

“Take lyrium?” said Tre. “No. I never actually completed training. I stalled for as long as I could. The lyrium scared me -- it still scares me. I never want to get near the stuff.”

“And when did the templar training start?”

“Well, my family had been grooming me to go into training for pretty much all of my life” said Tre. “But I started officially with the other recruits when I was seventeen.”

“And that was...how many years ago?” said Dorian, concealing his smile with a drink.

“C’mon, I’m not that young,” said Tre. “I’m twenty-four. Why, how old are you?”

“I’m the one asking the questions now,” said Dorian, grabbing the bottle. “Tell me more about this whole templar business.” 

* * *

 

“So I was just hanging there, belt caught on the trellis,” Tre was saying.

Dorian and the Inquisitor had given up the glasses and were passing a bottle back and forth now. They finished off the first one and Dorian had produced a second from under his chair; Tre was a lightweight enough that Dorian had managed to convince him that he had actually magicked the bottle into existence. Somehow they had both ended up sitting on the floor, though now Dorian couldn’t remember when that had happened. He also couldn’t believe the stories Tre had begun telling him; wine really did loosen his tongue. Apparently, the templars weren’t as pure as Dorian had always assumed.

“Only one arm in my shirt, my right boot falling off --”

“You didn’t even get your shoes all the way on?!”

“Well I was in a bit of a hurry!” Tre said dramatically. “A Chantry sister was coming down the hall to wake everyone up for the morning Chant -- I couldn’t well let her open the door and have her find two male templar recruits spooning.”

“Oh, Maker,” said Dorian.

“You’re telling me,” said Tre, taking another drink. “He’s sleeping through all of this, by the way, which should give you an idea of how the night went in general -- not the most stamina -- but it’s the Chantry, beggars can’t be choosers about their fellow gay templars.”

Dorian laughed so hard that he snorted. He was drunk enough that he didn’t even care that it sounded extremely unattractive.

“So I’m hanging there,” Tre continued, his words beginning to slur. “An’ no one sees me -- an’ then our combat instructor comes out of the door, right under where I’m hanging.”

“No!”

“Yes!” said Tre. “He didn’t look up though! I was so relieved! And then my boot fell off.”

“NO!” Dorian exclaimed.

“YES!” Tre was laughing now, too, and had sunk down so low that he was practically lying on the floor. “Hit him right on the head.”

“What did he do?” said Dorian. “He must have realized…”

“Oh, he definitely realized. I was sure I was toast. I had no idea at that point what would happen if a trainee was found to be partici...participapate....having sex. Most recruits found sex at some point or another, but it was far from the Chantry, in whatever pleasure houses they could find. Not in the beds of their fellow recruits.”

“So what happened?”

Tre took a long drink from the bottle, and Dorian yanked it from his grasp.

“Hey!” said Tre, laughing. “Anyway, he helped me down.”

“Your combat instructor? Really?”

“Really,” said Tre.

“What did he say?”

“That I could do better than Weatherby.”

“That was all?”

“That was all.” Tre smiled to his fullest extent, his white teeth a perfect contrast to his dark skin. His smile was joyous and sincere and so lovely. Dorian shook his head of the thought. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to go there.

“He made me run an extra five laps around the grounds that day,” Tre continued. “But that was the same punishment any of the recruits got when they broke the rules, so I was happy.”

Tre slid the rest of the way onto his back and closed his eyes.

“Anyway,” he said. “I think the room is starting to spin. Is’t spinning for you?”

“Little bit of spin, yes,” said Dorian. “But I think I can hold my wine better than you.”

Tre tried to reach out and slap at Dorian, but missed by several inches and his hand fell against the stone floor.

“I should say sorry, too, Dorian,”  said Tre after a few moments of silence. His eyes were closed, and his speech even more slurred now that tiredness had mixed with the drunkenness.

“Whatever for?” asked Dorian softly. He was just noticing how beautiful Tre’s cheekbones looked in the candlelight.

“Subtlety,” Tre said. “I’m not good at it. Just like you said. I’ve been throwing myself at you -- kept hoping you’d be interested in me. Anyway, I get it now. And s’okay. I’m sorry I flirt so much. I’ll stop. No...trellis.” And then the Inquisitor’s words were replaced by his snoring.

Oh, thought Dorian. _Oh._

Well, this was curious. Dorian wasn’t sure how to process how he was feeling. Tre’s words stung in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Of course Dorian had realized that Tre was interested in him -- he really was horrible at being subtle. At first Dorian wasn’t sure how to handle it; he definitely wasn’t used to men flirting with him so openly. But there was no doubt that Dorian had enjoyed flirting back.

Of course, he’d been telling himself that it was only the act of flirting he was enjoying, and that it had nothing to do with the person he was flirting with. Dorian had been carefully crafting a wall of denial when it came to his strange relationship with the Inquisitor -- because when it came down to it, it was so _complicated_.

Firstly, Tre wasn’t just _Tre_ , he was the leader of the whole bloody Inquisition. He was becoming one of the most powerful men in all of Thedas. There was a certain intimidation factor in all that.

Secondly, Dorian was perceived as the evil Tevinter Magister come to steal the Inquisitor’s soul. What if a relationship with Dorian hurt Tre’s reputation as a leader?

Thirdly, and most terrifying of all: Dorian _liked_ Tre. He understood logically that it was considered normal for a person to become romantically involved with someone that they liked on a personal level, but that had never been the case for Dorian. Any romantic encounter he’d experienced had been relatively anonymous, and one-time-only arrangements. Dorian knew that at the very least if he initiated a relationship with Tre, it wouldn’t be one night. They would continue to see each other nearly every day. And Dorian didn’t want Tre to be an anonymous one-night encounter; that was what frightened him the most.

Dorian felt a shock of wanting shoot through his gut as he watched Tre ( _Mercutio_ , he thought) sleep. He felt as the wine dissolved the last of the walls of denial he had so carefully crafted. Dorian imagined waking up next to Mercutio, of having his face be the first thing he saw in the morning. He felt a desire unlike any he’d ever experienced before. It went beyond lust, and Dorian knew then that he was in trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh I'm sorry, I fell of the map for a bit! But I'm back now, and I'll try to make it less than a month between this one and the next <3

As he nursed away his hangover in the sobering light of the following day, Dorian managed to convince himself that any and all sentiment felt during the previous evening was only a side-effect brought on by far too much wine. He hadn’t liked it -- the sentiment, not the wine. It made him feel weak. Vulnerable. Dorian shuddered at the thought.

Dorian had woken the Inquisitor only moments after his embarrassingly gushy inner-monologue, and summoned one of the guards on night duty to escort  their leader back to his room. Dorian walked slowly back to his own room, drinking the last of the wine from the bottle as he went, thinking of all of the horrible things his parents had ever said to him. He had wanted to feel a familiar pain, one he had control over, until the feelings he had felt as he had watched Tre sleep were dissuaded.

 _It’s all for the best_ , Dorian thought as he made his way toward the library once more. _No need to go muddling things._

Dorian rounded the corner and saw Tre standing and talking with Varric. Tre’s head was thrown back in laughter, the sunlight filtering in from the high windows basking his face in the early afternoon glow. Dorian felt the ache he had thought was banished return to his stomach once again, and he glared down at it accusingly.

This was lust, Dorian told himself stubbornly. That was all. Nothing more. And now that Dorian knew from last night’s stories that Tre wasn’t the doe-eyed, innocent virgin he had thought -- well, maybe the two of them could proceed in the way Dorian was used to when it came to sex between men. They could get it out of their systems, as it were, and move on. All feelings averted.

“Mercutio,” said Dorian, smirking at Tre as he walked by through the doorway to the library stairwell.

“Dorian,” said the Inquisitor, smiling back.

Varric rolled his eyes and groaned.

“Oh, Varric!” said Dorian with mock surprise. “I didn’t see you there!”

“Oh, I get it, it’s because I’m short!” said Varric dryly. “Very clever, Sparkler, never in all my years have I heard that one before.”

Dorian looked back at Tre over his shoulder as he continued to walk by, cocking one eyebrow. He let his gaze travel down Tre’s body and back up again, slowly enough to be noticeable. He wanted Tre to follow him upstairs. The quicker they got this out of their systems, the better. He only caught a glimpse of Tre’s expression, but Dorian was fairly certain he would take the hint.

Dorian nodded to Solas as he passed. Although they were on friendly enough terms, Dorian and Solas didn’t talk much -- so Dorian was surprised when Solas rushed forward as Dorian entered the room.

“Dorian -- a warning,” Solas said in a low voice, his eyes darting to the doorway Dorian had just walked through. He lead Dorian further away from the doorway before continuing. “Mother Giselle is upstairs. She’s been looking for you all morning.”

“What could she possibly want with me?” said Dorian incredulously. “Doesn’t she hate me?”

“It appears....your time with the Inquisitor did not go unnoticed last night. She seems to think it was a step too far.”

“Ah,” said Dorian.

“You can walk away, I will not tell her that I saw you.”

“Thank you, Solas,” said Dorian. He was oddly touched by the gesture. “But Skyhold isn’t that big. She’ll find me eventually. I might as well get this over with.”

Dorian placed a hand on Solas’s shoulder, and turned toward the stairs.

 _Well_ , he thought, sighing heavily. _This will be fun._

* * *

 

“Well, I’ve got to -- um -- check in with Leliana before we head out,” said Tre after a few more minutes of talking with Varric. Tre had spent the majority of the morning coordinating with Blackwall, Varric, and Solas to leave for the Fallow Mire.

“Uh huh,” said Varric, picking up his mug and taking a long drink.

“Okay, fine, I’m going to say goodbye to Dorian before we go,” said Tre.

“See, was that so hard?” said Varric. “Listen, Glowy -- I’m calling you Glowy because this is a strictly non-Inquisition conversation right now -- you can just say that, okay? With any of us, but especially with me. The world is ending. No one cares who you’re...talking to. Okay?”

“Really, Varric, nothing’s happening between us. Not that I don’t want….Anyway, we had a talk last night -- it’s a little blurry, but I remember most of it. It’s not going to be like that.”

“Uh huh,” said Varric.

“Stop saying that!”

“Just go upstairs, Glowy,” said Varric.

Tre went. He was anxious to talk to Dorian after last night. He had had a wonderful time, and it seemed like Dorian had, too. But still, Tre was nervous; he had never shared those stories with anyone before last night -- he hadn’t ever had anyone to share them _with_. And then there was the last thing, when he admitted fully and articulately (or as fully and articulately as he could in his drunken state) his feeling for Dorian, and his acceptance that those feeling weren’t going to be returned. That part was pretty fuzzy, honestly. He didn’t remember Dorian responding. The next thing Tre remember was Dorian helping him up and a guard making sure he got back to his room okay. What if Dorian had been freaked out by Tre’s official confession? What if things started to be weird between them?

Though _of course_ things would be weird. Tre had promised to back off  in his obvious affection for Dorian, and he would do that to the best of his ability. But that didn’t mean his feelings would go away. That would take time, and effort. And he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to do that when Dorian kept smirking at him and doing the thing with his eyebrow. And what was with that flirtatious look at Tre’s body? Was it a joke about his stories from the night before? Did Dorian not realize how much a look like that could affect him?

Anyway, that was part of the reason that Tre was so eager (despite the pounding of his head) when Cullen approached him early that morning and told him that their help was requested post-haste in the Fallow Mallow. Tre welcomed the distraction. A few days away from Skyhold and Dorian (in the possibly least-sexy location in the world) would help him clear his mind. Still, he couldn’t resist the desire to talk to Dorian before he left. It would feel too strange if he didn’t say goodbye.

“Inquisitor --”

“We’ll talk later, Solas -- I’m just running upstairs for a moment, we’re still leaving within the hour.”

“But --”

Solas was cut off by the sound of two people arguing loudly from the upstairs landing.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing!”

“Being clucked at by a hen, evidently!”

“Don’t play the fool with me, young man!”

“If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather convincing, I assure you.”

Solas shrugged and sighed, then gestured weakly for the Inquisitor to continue. Tre took the stairs two at a time, until Dorian and Mother Giselle came into view.

“Your glib tongue does you no credit,” said Mother Giselle sharply.

“You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your reverence.”

 _Maker’s Breath, Dorian_ , thought Tre -- with exasperation or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“Oh,” said Mother Giselle, visibly faltering when she saw Tre walking up behind Dorian. “I....”

“What’s going on here?” said Tre, with just a dash of Inquisitor-sounding authority.

“It seems the revered mother is concerned about my ‘undue influence’ over you,” said Dorian without looking over his shoulder.

“It _is_ just a concern,” said Mother Giselle. She turned toward the Inquisitor in a manner that suggested an attempt to close Dorian out of the conversation. “Your Worship, you must know how this looks.

Tre wrinkled his brow in confusion.

“You might need to spell it out, my dear,” said Dorian.

Mother Giselle shot a glare at Dorian, then addressed the Inquisitor once more.

“This man is of Tevinter,” she said imploringly. “His presence at your side....the rumors alone…”

“Rumors?” said Tre, his eyebrows shooting upward now. “Do tell!”

Tre knew that Mother Giselle was an intelligent woman. No doubt she had drawn the same conclusions about Tre’s sexuality as everyone else had, and (like most) had refused to acknowledge it to him outright. It felt good to challenge someone, to call someone out for the countless conversations that had happened behind his back. Tre was done shaming himself for his inability to be subtle. He was tired of feeling like he should be trying to hide who he was.

“I could not repeat them, Your Worship,” said Mother Giselle haughtily.

“Repeat them?” said Tre, smiling through his frustration. He liked Mother Giselle, that was the worst part about all of this. “So you’ve shared them before?”

Tre wasn’t looking at Dorian, but he could feel the satisfied smirk radiating off of him.

“I….see,” said Mother Giselle awkwardly. “I meant no disrespect, Inquisitor, only to ask after this man’s intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both.”

She inclined her head toward them each, then hurried off down the stairs.

“Well, that’s something,” said Dorian.

“Don’t listen to her, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She does, actually,” said Dorian quietly. He turned toward Tre and lowered his voice even more. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are...intimate.”

Tre barely suppressed a scoff. Maybe it was the residual emotion from the interaction with Mother Giselle, but despite all of the time he’d spent telling himself he would be fine with Dorian’s rejection, Tre found himself feeling distinctly annoyed. No _shit_ , people thought they were intimate -- the way they were with each other, _anyone_ would think that. Maker, anyone who spent as much time together as they did -- who flirted with such ferocity as they did -- _would_ be intimate.

“That’s not the worst assumption they could have, is it?” said Tre before he could stop himself. There was a bite to his voice, and he didn’t expect Dorian to smile playfully in response.

“I don’t know,” he said with mock surprise. “Is it?”

Tre rolled his eyes. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?”

“If you’re capable--”

The last word had barely passed through Tre’s lips before Dorian was catching it with his own. Dorian placed one hand on the small of Tre’s back, the other curling around the nape of his neck. Dorian’s lips were pressed to his, soft and moving.

Dorian was kissing him.

 _Dorian was_ _kissing him_.

It was a moment before Tre’s body reacted, and then his nerves came alive, spurring him into motion. Tre whimpered and clutched at the front of Dorian’s robes. He deepened the kiss, and there was a desperation to his movements that he hadn’t expected, even from himself. He had wanted Dorian so badly for so long. He felt completely out of control. It felt _wonderful_.

Dorian walked him backwards, further into the alcove, and pressed Tre against the nearest bookshelf, holding him there for a moment longer before breaking away.

“‘If you’re capable’,” Dorian said, and Tre was pleased to note the breathlessness in his voice. “The nonsense you speak.”

“You realize this makes the rumors somewhat true,” said Tre, with similar breathlessness. He felt like his entire body was buzzing with electricity.

“Evidently,” said Dorian. His voice was low and velvety and Tre lost all ability to think as Dorian pressed their bodies together. “We might have to explore the full truth of them later. In private.”

Tre felt his mouth go dry and he nodded, maybe a little excessively. Privacy, yes -- they should immediately find privacy.

Tre remembered a few things, then. Firstly, that he and Dorian were engaged in an intimate embrace in the middle of the library in broad daylight. And secondly --

“Shit,” Tre said, letting his head fall back against the bookshelf.

“What is it?” said Dorian, his voice still low and soft.

“Varric, Blackwall, Solas and I are on our way to the Fallow Mire to save innocent people from undead hoards,” said Tre, and he could hear the obvious misery in his own voice. “That’s why I came up here to begin with -- to tell you where I’d be for the next few days.”

“What?!” said Dorian, his voice breaking out of it’s low seductive tone into one of actual alarm.

“We’ll be fine, it’s not that dangerous,” said Tre. “But we’ll be gone for a few days -- maybe a week.”

Dorian took a step back and ran his hands through his hair, which told Tre something was _definitely_ wrong.

“What is it?” he said seriously, reaching out to stroke Dorian’s arm.

Dorian closed his eyes and sighed.

“Nothing -- it’s nothing,” he said, composing a tight smile. “I just -- didn’t think you’d be going anywhere today.”

“You could come!” said Tre, brightening.

Tre knew from the way Dorian smirked what the answer would be before he even spoke.

“The Fallow Mire? Endless bad weather and stinking marshes? I can think of much better places I’d like to come.”

Dorian Pavus was a menace.

“But,” he continued, taking a step closer to Tre once more and leaning in so that their lips were almost touching. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting your return.”

And Tre knew then that he was in trouble.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Dorian felt like he was becoming completely unhinged.

The second the Inquisitor had left for the Fallow Mire, Dorian had dived for his stash of wine hidden underneath his chair, forced the cork out with magic, and took a giant gulp from the bottle. He never would have kissed Tre had he known he would have had to wait days ( _maybe a week_ , he thought, horrified) to sleep with him. Having to wait defeated the whole purpose Dorian had set out to achieve. He had wanted to break the sexual tension between them, not reinforce it. And what was Dorian supposed to do in the meantime, now that he had the memory of Tre’s lips on his? Tre grasping at him so urgently and letting out that desperate little whine?

Dorian replayed the moment in his head. The look of bliss on Tre’s face when they had pulled apart. The light in those fetching eyes, sparkling like the sea.

Dorian took another long drink.

He spent most of the next few days drunk, trying to numb himself from his own feelings. What _was_ it about Mercutio Trevelyan?

 _Mercutio_ , he thought languidly. It really was a beautiful name.

Someone needed to slap him.

Dorian groaned and put his head down on the bar of the Herald’s Rest, where he was making his home for the day.

“You okay?”

Sera had taken the stool next to Dorian. He turned his head to look at her, not lifting it from the bar.

“’Mfine,” he slurred.

Sera placed her own head on the bar so that she was looking right at Dorian.

“Don’t seem fine,” she said. “Seem more...pathetic.”

Dorian didn’t answer.

“Is it cause Tre’s not here?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Dorian mumbled.

“Is it ‘cause you haven’t told him you’re in love with him?”

Dorian sputtered, sitting upright so suddenly he almost fell off the stool. He looked around wildly, but of the few other people frequenting the tavern in the middle of the day, no one was paying attention to him and Sera.

“Maker, Sera, why would you say that?”

“‘Cause you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You kiss, he leaves, you sit snapping at people and getting drunk for three days,” said Sera. “Dunno anyone who acts that stupid unless they’re all smitten, yeah?”

“I’m - not--,” Dorian sputtered. “It’s not--how did you know we kissed?”

“You, him, library, middle of the day -- people talk. Say it looked _intense_ ,” said Sera, waggling her eyebrows.

Dorian took another drink.

“I’m not...what you said,” said Dorian after a few moments.

“Sound really convincing, you do,” said Sera sarcastically.

“I’m not!” said Dorian fiercely. “I’m just...frustrated.”

“Like horny?” said Sera, laughing.

“Full of tact, as always,” said Dorian, lifting his drink to her.

“So anyone will do, then?”

“What?”

“If you’re horny-like, and not in love with Tre, then anyone will do. Iron Bull thinks you’re hot. So does the guy over there.”

Dorian looked behind him to where Sera had nodded her head, and one of the soldiers-in-training looked away bashfully.

“So why don’t you go have it off with one of them?” said Sera.

Dorian thought that over for a moment, and wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. He supposed it _could_ help to try and get his sexual frustrations out elsewhere. But a thought interrupted -- the same thought that had been interrupting periodically over the past three days: Tre, his face bright and full of mischief, grasping the front of Dorian’s robes as their bodies pressed together.

Dorian turned back to his drink.

“That’s what I thought,” said Sera smugly. “Bored now, though.”

She got up and walked out without saying goodbye.

Sera didn’t know what she was talking about.

Dorian began to bring the tankard to his lips once more, but it was knocked out of his hand with a loud clang. He ducked as the arrow ricocheted off the tankard and stuck into the wall behind the bar.

“And switch to water, yeah?” said Sera from where she was leaning through the window from the outside, bow in hand. “You don’t want to be all sloppy for when he comes back.”

* * *

Distraction was more difficult without alcohol. Though Dorian supposed he had spent most of his time drunk thinking about Tre, at least the unwanted feelings those thoughts sparked had been numbed.

He tried masturbating, hoping the release would help him clear his mind and maybe lessen the ache in his gut. He thought of Tre’s body, recalling the times they’d been out in the wilderness and had to bathe in rivers and ponds. He thought of the smooth curve of Tre’s ass, his strong back, the curve of his neck.

And just as he was about to come, the clear image of Tre’s face, bright and smiling, his eyes boring into Dorian’s--

 _What the fuck?_ Dorian thought, even has he spilled over his hand. There were dozens of aspects of Tre’s body to fantasize about -- the man had abs for _days_ \-- and he came to the image of his smiling face? This was not _normal_ , and clearly Dorian needed another tactic.

He tried reading incessantly. It occupied Dorian’s mind, but the weird ache that now migrated between his gut and chest was more persistent than ever. It was a strange mixture of anxiety, excitement, fear and...something else. Dorian decided that maybe it had to do with Tre being the Inquisitor; he’d never slept with someone so prominent in political power, and therefore so in the public eye.

Well, he supposed there was one magister, but he was a horrible person that Dorian hadn’t even liked, let alone --

Sera didn’t know what she was talking about.

Dorian turned back to his research.

On the fifth day he cornered Cullen and roped him into playing chess for nearly three hours.

“Come on!” he would say when Cullen would begin to talk about attending to other duties. “Best seven out of...what is it eleven?”

“Thirteen. And all right, one more, but just _one_ more,” he said sternly. “And only because I want another shot at winning back my dignity. That, and I suppose the only thing I’m waiting for today is the Inquisitor to return with the others.”

Dorian jumped and knocked the chess table so that a good number of the pieces fell over.

“I’d accuse you of trying to cheat if we weren’t just setting up for a new game,” said Cullen. “Aren’t you going to ask?” he added after a moment of silence while they each set up their side of the board.

“Hmm?” said Dorian, raising his eyebrows and feigning indifference.

Not very well, apparently.

“So you _don’t_ care that we received a raven this morning that the Inquisitor would be back by nightfall?” said Cullen with a barely concealed grin.

 _Tonight_.

The ache in Dorian’s stomach swelled, twisted, and backflipped in a victory leap. Dorian fought to compose his face. He didn’t know why -- it was obvious that everyone knew by now that something was going on between him and Tre. It was obvious, too, then, that everyone knew he was gay, and no one seemed to care (the people whose opinions were important to him, at any rate). But there was a still a vulnerability to this whole situation that Dorian didn’t feel comfortable displaying, even to his friends. He didn’t know how to present himself, and so he prefered to pretend that there was nothing to present.

“Oh? So soon?” he said, trying to keep his voice even.

“Uh huh,” said Cullen. He must have been spending time with Varric.

* * *

 

Dorian crushed Cullen in their last chess game of the night.

“Huh, I really thought I’d win that one,” said Cullen. “But now I guess I don’t have to feel bad by distracting you and giving myself a leg-up.”

“With what?” said Dorian.

“Oh, come on,” said Cullen. “You know what.”

“I’m getting rather hungry,” said Dorian, standing up. “Excuse me, Lord Commander.”

“Do you want me to let you know when he’s back?”

“When who’s back?” called Dorian over his shoulder, and he didn’t stop walking.

“Why does he do that?” Cullen asked Cassandra, who had been sitting in the courtyard reading.

“Do what?” she said without looking up.

“Pretend like he doesn’t care about the Inquisitor?”

“You and Varric -- the both of you, I swear,” said Cassandra, placing her hand in the book to mark her place. “Leave those two alone.”

“I’m trying to be supportive!” said Cullen, laughing incredulously.

“You’re being pushy,” said Cassandra sternly. “Not everyone wants to air their feelings so openly. Let Dorian have his privacy. He and the Inquisitor don’t need your help, they’ll come together on their own.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Cullen. “What if Dorian is too self-sabotaging?”

“Have some more faith in romance,” said Cassandra turning back to her book.

“If you say so,” said Cullen with a sigh. “What are you reading, anyway?”

“NOTHING!” yelled Cassandra, clutching the book to her chest and nearly falling off the bench.

* * *

Dorian had lied about being hungry, obviously, but he did decide to try and distract himself with dinner. It didn’t work. He tried reading again, but found himself looking at the same sentence over and over again without retaining any of the words. Finally he decided he’d get some fresh air by walking the ramparts. The fact that he would also have a perfect view of anyone entering Skyhold was besides the point.

The sun was setting and Dorian had walked the same path five times around the walls of Skyhold before he heard the gates opening. Dorian could just make out the figures of four people walking through the courtyard. The smallest -- Varric -- was leading the way, and the other three were huddled together. Two of the figures were holding the third between them, staggering along.

Dorian took off at a run.

He rounded the corner into the entrance hall just as the four men reached the top of the stairs and were walking through the doorway. Varric was calling for medical help, while Solas and Tre slowly lowered Blackwall into a chair.

Dorian let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“I’m fine,” Blackwall was protesting loudly as a healer mage was summoned. “It’s just my leg!”

“You should never say 'it's just' when talking about a limb,” Tre said, placing a hand on Blackwall’s shoulder to keep him from trying to get up. “Limbs are important.” He patted Balckwall’s shoulder and looked up, his eyes locking with Dorian’s. Tre smiled, and even across the hall (and through the mud and grime that covered him) Dorian could see the sparkle in his eyes.

Dorian’s feet were carrying him toward Tre before he had consciously decided to move. Tre met him halfway, reaching out and taking Dorian’s hand in his when they met. It was a simple gesture. It shouldn’t have had the effect that it did on Dorian.

“Hello,” said Tre. Up close, Dorian could see how beat up and tired Tre looked. It must have been a rough five days. There were cuts and bruises buried under the muck of the Fallow Mire.

“Hello,” said Dorian, allowing his fingers to curl around Tre’s. “You look exhausted.”

“Oh _Maker,_ ” said Tre, pulling his hand back and seeming to only just remember what he looked like. “I’m _disgusting_.”

“Well, now, that’s harsh,” said Dorian playfully, though truthfully it wasn’t harsh at all.

“No, it’s not,” said Tre, echoing Dorian’s thoughts. “If I don’t bathe soon, I’ll need a rift to suck all the filth off. But after I do,” he continued, his voice lowering, “you could...join me in my rooms. If you wanted.”

The way Tre had asked -- the way in which his manner had changed so quickly from “charming Inquisitor” to “nervous flirt” -- was so endearing that Dorian almost wanted to tell him to forgo the bath.

Almost. Tre really needed a bath.

“I’ll meet you in an hour,” said Dorian.

But when he had crept across the hall and into Tre’s quarters, it was to find Tre face down, passed out on top of the covers, halfway out of his leather armor, daggers on the floor, the water in the bath that was set up in the middle of the room still clean and untouched. One boot was still hanging onto Tre’s foot -- he had clearly been too exhausted to even undress.

Dorian sighed and reached down to remove the boot. He laughed to himself as he remembered the story Tre had told him in the library the week prior. Tre had managed to get out of the top-half of his leather armor except for his left sleeve, which Dorian pulled off gently.

“This is _not_ how I imagined undressing you when you returned,” said Dorian quietly.

Tre stirred slightly without waking, nuzzling into the bedding.

“ _Dorian_ ,” he groaned in his sleep.

Mercutio Trevelyan was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, Mercutio's daggers are named Romeo and Juliet


	5. Chapter 5

“Updates, Commander?” asked Leliana as she and Cullen walked the ramparts in the morning. Leliana had been watching two men talking animatedly just outside the main gates. From his mannerisms and shining hair, Leliana easily identified the taller of the two as Dorian, though the other was a stranger to her. It was impossible to be sure from this distance, but it seemed to Leliana that the two men were arguing. As Cullen spoke, Leliana held something small and metallic in the air so that it caught the light, then twisted her hand several times, refracting the light in a careful but swift pattern. A moment later an answering light appeared, emanating from the hand of a small elven girl leaning against the inner-wall of the gate. The pattern of the answering flashes told Leliana that her agent was within easy earshot of Dorian and the stranger. The conversation ended quickly and the two parted ways -- the stranger away from Skyhold, and Dorian toward. Moments later, a raven was soaring from the elven girl toward Leliana, landing on the ramparts in front of her.

“Cassandra says we’re being too pushy,” Cullen was saying.“I say we’re doing them a favor.”

“That wasn’t _exactly_ the update I was talking about, Commander,” said Leliana lightly. “Though,” she added, reading the note that had been attached to the raven’s leg, “there may be an interesting development on that front.”

* * *

 Tre woke up on his stomach, head resting on his arms. The last thing he remembered was starting to undress; he had tripped over his own feet trying to kick his boots off and landed face-down on the bed. He remembered feeling exhausted, and resigned to resting his eyes for just a moment…

He must have fallen asleep. Yet somehow Tre had awoken in his underclothes, his armor removed, and a blanket draped over his shoulders.

 _Dorian_. Of course. Tre mentally kicked himself for his inability fight his exhaustion the night before. In retrospect, he probably should have told Dorian they could find time to spend together the next day, but Tre hadn’t wanted to wait any longer. He had spent the entirety of his time away from Skyhold longing for Dorian. It had gotten him into trouble on multiple occasions -- the most dire of which involved him fantasizing so deeply about his next meeting with Dorian that he lead the party straight into the dead-infested waters and roused nearly twenty walking skeletons. Tre did his best to sober his thoughts a bit after that, but images of Dorian were always flickering in the background of his mind.

What did Dorian think when he found Tre, passed out, still a disgusting, grimy mess? The warmth that filled Tre at the thought of Dorian taking care of him was drowned out by overwhelming embarrassment. That was _not_ how Tre had imagined Dorian undressing him when he returned.

Tre groaned into his arms. He stood, peeling himself from the bed and the blanket from his back. There was a Tre-shaped smudge across the silky top layer of his bedding. Josephine was going to be furious -- the bedding had been a rather expensive gift from a merchant in Val Royeaux.

Tre stepped out of his underclothes and plunged into the now-cold bath water without ceremony. He washed quickly -- both because the water was freezing, and also because he wanted to see Dorian as soon as possible. He stumbled into the hall ten minutes later, his fresh clothes sticking to his still-damp skin.

“Inquisitor!” called someone behind Tre when he was halfway across the hall.

Tre closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe one day he’d be able to take ten steps without someone needing him for something.

“Yes?” he said, turning toward the voice and trying to hide his frustration.

“Message coming through, Inquisitor!” said the courier, and handed him a note before turning and hurrying away.

Tre’s stomach leapt when he saw Dorian’s name, but as he read the note, he was mostly confused. Who was Ponchard de Lieux and why was Dorian trying to buy an amulet off of him? 

* * *

 

Dorian was irritable. He was still fuming over his infuriating interaction with Ponchard de Lieux (what a _stupid_ name, he thought angrily). He hadn’t eaten yet that day. And worst of all, he felt at the peak of sexual frustration.

Of course he couldn’t be mad at Tre for falling asleep -- everyone in this bloody Inquisition worked him so hard and asked so _much_ from him. That wasn’t Tre’s fault. Still, somehow having Tre close by made the anticipation that much more intolerable. Dorian had masturbated furiously when he had gotten back to his rooms after helping Tre out of his armor, but the act only briefly assuaged the ache.

So when Tre appeared at the top of the stairs, his clothes sticking to his still-damp body, it took all of Dorian’s effort to compose his face into his usual devil-may-care expression.

Tre was beelining for Dorian when something seemed to catch the corner of his eye. Tre stopped abruptly, cleared his throat, and looked around the library nervously. Dorian didn’t need to follow his gaze to know they were being watched. Nearby, a recently conscripted mage had stopped midway through reaching for a book to stare openly at the Inquisitor.

“I need to talk to you,” said Tre pointedly to Dorian.

The mage yelped, dropped the book, and hurried off to the other side of the library, though she continued to stare.

“About how much you adore me, I assume?” said Dorian. “I hear that _so_ often.”

“I was hoping to steal a moment alone with you,” said Tre softlly, taking a step closer, the desire in his eyes communicating the obvious.

“‘I need to talk to you,’ he says,” Dorian replied equally softly, unable to conceal his smile. “Have it your way, but let’s go where a hundred onlookers won’t think I’m stealing the Inquisitor’s soul.”

Tre nodded and lead the way down the stairs.

“I’m so sorry, Dorian,” Tre began as they walked. “About last night, I mean. I didn’t mean to--”

Tre stopped speaking abruptly; he and Dorian were halfway passed Solas’s currently-vacant desk when a clear voice echoed from the entrance hall.

“I _must_ see the Inquisitor _at once!_ ” called the stranger’s voice, shrill and irritable.

“As I’ve told you already, Duchess de Val Montaigne, the Inquisitor -”

“I have traveled all the way from Val Royeaux! I must insist--”

 _Nope_ , thought Dorian. _Not on the Maker._

He pushed Tre bodily through the side door leading out onto the ramparts. Tre didn’t protest -- quite the opposite: Once they were through the door, Tre leaned his back against the outer-wall and pulled Dorian flush against him. Their second kiss was as hungry as the first -- maybe even moreso, now that they were relatively concealed by shadow without any sign of onlookers. Dorian let his hands roam Tre’s body, tracing by touch the map of his most recent obsessive fantasies. He kissed along Tre’s jaw to the spot just under his left ear and the noise that Tre made was _obscene_ . Honestly, Mercutio Trevelyan had no right to make a noise like that. Didn’t he know he was the Inquisitor? And worse, the Herald of Andraste? He was the bloody most powerful, most holy man in all of Thedas. He couldn’t just go around making noises like _that_. It wasn’t fair.

Dorian groaned in response and pressed himself more firmly against Tre, cursing their layers of clothing. How long would they have on the ramparts without being noticed? How long until --

“Solas, have you seen the Inquisitor?” came the loud, frazzled voice of Josephine from the other side of the door, which Dorian only just now realized was still partially ajar.

“I haven’t... _seen_ him,” said Solas, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “But I only just returned to my desk a few moments ago.”

 _Shit_ , thought Dorian.

“Shit,” whispered Tre.

“Well, if you find him, please send him to the war room, and do tell him it’s urgent,” said Josephine. “Duchess de Val Montaigne is being _quite_ insistent about that bloody bridge of hers.”

Josephine’s retreating footsteps. Solas’s approaching ones. Then a soft knock from the other side of the door.

“Inquisitor?” said Solas softly, and Dorian knew he was grinning in that infuriatingly way of his. “You’re...needed in the war room.”

Dorian and Tre pulled apart.

“Be right there, Solas,” called Tre. He leaned his head back against the stone wall, his features struggling with a sudden appearance of trying not to laugh. He smiled at Dorian, and it was so infectious that despite his frustrations, Dorian smiled back. As infuriating as it was, there was still something thrilling about being with Mercutio like this, hanging on the precipice.

“We’ll talk later,” said Tre, slipping away from the wall.

“Come back tonight,” said Dorian.

Tre kissed him once more, and it was a kiss that Dorian had never experienced before: quick, easy, comfortable. As if Mercutio had already kissed him like this a thousand times before, and would kiss him a thousand times again. It wasn’t passionate or desperate, but it left Dorian standing shocked still for a long time after Tre had disappeared back into the keep. 

* * *

 

Duchess de Val Montaigne held Tre up for over an hour, pleading with him to lend Inquisition forces to help restore the bridge that she and her committee of historical architecture fanatics had been so obsessed with. The argument was less about whether Judicael’s Crossing should be restored (Tre was sure the Inquisition would find the bridge useful) as much as it was about the reconstructing process. The duchess and the committee she represented were quite insistent on rebuilding the bridge with as much detail and accuracy as possible, far beyond what was necessary for practical use. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they came to an agreement that satisfied the duchess and also didn’t use up too many of the Inquisition’s valuable resources.

Tre bade the duchess a hasty farewell, then dashed across the entrance hall as quickly as he could without outright running, desperately avoiding eye-contact with anyone in fear that they would call him away. He only had a short time before he was meant to meet with Cullen to hear updates about the training of the newest recruits, and he hadn’t remembered until halfway through the meeting with the duchess that there had been something he had wanted to ask Dorian about.

“I’ve been told something about an amulet,” Tre said by way of greeting.

“How did you hear about that?” said Dorian, sounding genuinely surprised. Then, answering his own question: “Oh...Leliana. Of course _she_ would find out. Don’t make an issue of it. I don’t want someone solving my personal problems for me. I’ll get the amulet back somehow...On my own.”

“What is it, exactly?” asked Tre.

Dorian grunted and leaned heavily against the window seat.

“The Pavus Birthright,” said Dorian flatly. Then, when Tre shrugged in confusion: “The flashy thing you show peons to make them tremble at your impressive lineage. I didn’t leave Tevinter with much in the way of coin...so I sold it,” Dorian spoke tentatively, with some embarrassment. “Entirely forbidden, of course, and foolish, but I was desperate. I’ll figure something out.”

“You don’t even like your family, why would you want it back?” asked Tre, though he thought he might know the answer even before he finished asking the question.

“Because it’s mine. And it shouldn’t be…” Dorian hesitated. “Passed around like candy,” he finished lamely.

“That’s the only reason?” asked Tre. He knew he was prying and that Dorian wouldn’t like it, but Tre treasured the moments when Dorian allowed small insights into himself. Though by the look on Dorian’s face, this wasn’t going to be one of those moments.

“It’s reason enough, leave it be,” he said shortly.

Tre watched Dorian as he turned his face away. He wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort to Dorian, but everything about Dorian’s posture was closed off and distant. Tre wanted to tell Dorian that he thought he understood -- that names were important, that Dorian was a Pavus no matter how his family treated him, that they couldn’t take his name from him.

“There are plenty of ways to skin a nug, Dorian,” said Tre eventually. “We’ll think of something.”

“And _I_ will,” Dorian shot back, still not looking at him. “I’ll get it back. _I_ lost the amulet. I may not have your resources, but I can’t ask you to--”

Dorian cut off, glancing momentarily at Tre before looking away again.

“You have too many people asking you for everything under the sun,” said Dorian, turning around to look out of the window toward the mountains. “I won’t be one of them.”

“Dorian,” said Tre softly, reaching out and placing a hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

It happened so quickly that Tre, even with his reflexes, couldn’t have stopped it -- not that he wanted to. Dorian had spun, grabbing Tre’s wrist, pulling their bodies together, and kissing him deeply. They clung to each other, the intensity building between them dizzying. This was too much -- they had to get somewhere alone, they had waited long--

“Um...Inquisitor?” said a scared but persistent voice. It was the same woman that had delivered the note about Dorian’s amulet earlier that morning.

“Oh for the love of--”

Tre pulled away and rubbed his face with both hands, pinching the bridge of his nose with his middle fingers.

“Yes, what is it?” Tre said, the exasperation in his voice extremely apparent, just as Dorian said: “This had better be important.”

“It is, sir -- sirs -- Leliana sent me. It’s just -- Sera got in an argument with one of the guards and set off bees in the barracks again.”

 

Why was is so difficult for two consenting adults to find a way to have sex in Skyhold? Was it a curse on this wretched place, or was it that, as Inquisitor, it was Tre’s duty to forgo all life outside of the blasted Inquisition?

It was becoming an infuriating routine over the next few days: Tre would find time to sneak away with Dorian and they would have a few precious, passionate moments together, only to be interrupted by someone calling Tre away for some urgent business. You would think they would at least find time in the evening to be together for long enough to shed at least one layer of clothing -- but that would imply that Tre had been able to spend any of his nights since returning from the Fallow Mire in his quarters. More often, Tre fell asleep researching, or discussing tactics with Cullen, or wherever he had happened to sit down for five minutes. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that no romance was going to happen within the walls of Skyhold.

So when Josephine had told Tre about the plot against her family, and requested that he come with her to Val Royeaux to meet with man at the center of it all, Tre was more enthusiastic than the situation perhaps warranted.

“A whole evening away from Skyhold?” said Dorian when Tre had asked if he would like to come along. “What _will_ we do with ourselves?”

“Maker knows,” said Tre.

“Let’s hope not,” said Dorian.

And to top it all off, Leliana sent Tre a note just before their departure informing him that Ponchard de Lieux could be easily found during the daytime in Val Royeaux.

Even though Varric and Cassandra had tagged along at the last moment, which meant having to endure constant bickering for the entire journey, Tre’s spirits felt more lifted than they had in weeks. He had a good feeling about this trip.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a few days travel to Val Royeaux, even on horseback. It was a relatively uneventful trip, except for a short and easy fight with a small group of bandits. During the evenings, the five of them (Tre, Dorian, Cassandra, Varric, and Josephine) would play a round of Wicked Grace before heading to bed. The sexual tension between Tre and Dorian remained in tact -- mainly because the group was traveling light in favor of speed and only had one large tent to share between them. Tre supposed he and Dorian could have sneaked off into the woods, but he didn’t want his first time with Dorian  to be wasted on a rushed interaction. The tension between them had grown so intense that Tre knew the shattering of it would feel incredible, and he wanted to be able to savor the aftermath of that for as long as possible. Any time during their traveling that he was tempted to drag Dorian off into the woods, Tre returned to the image of the two of them wrapped in nothing but luxurious Orlaisian sheets for hours on end…

It was going to be worth the wait.

They reached Val Royeaux in the afternoon and left their horses with the stable master. It was a beautiful warm day, and Tre nestled his feet against Dorian’s under the table of the restaurant where they had decided to eat lunch. As the meeting with the Comte with information as to who was plotting against the Montilyets wasn't until the following day, they decided to enjoy the rest of their evening as much as possible and split a couple bottles of wine between them. Josephine was in surprisingly high spirits given the nature of their reason for being in Val Royeaux -- although that might have had something to do with the wine. Even Cassandra and Varric were getting along.

After his second glass of wine Tre excused himself to go to the bathroom, and used the chance away from the table to ask around and find someone who could point him to Ponchard de Lieux. He had been planning on finding Ponchard after the meeting with the Comte, but the more he thought about it, the more Tre liked the idea of doing something nice for Dorian before their first night alone together. He wanted to signal to Dorian that their relationship meant more to him than this sexual encounter they had been building toward, and helping Dorian retrieve his amulet felt like a good means to communicate that.

It wasn’t long before Tre found someone who knew Ponchard, although by her reaction to his inquiry, the man didn’t seem too popular. The woman pointed out Ponchard as a man strolling around the main square, perusing the shops. Tre thanked her, then returned to the table.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Tre asked softly in Dorian’s ear.

“To where do you have in mind?” Dorian answered back in a low voice.

“We’ll meet you at the inn,” Tre said to the others at normal volume. “Dorian and I are going to go look at the shops.”

“Ooh, that sounds nice, maybe I’ll --” Josephine cut off with a small yelp of pain (Varric had apparently slipped almost all the way off of his chair in order to kick her under the table), “-- go see if our rooms are ready.” Josephine had clearly taken the hint

“The shops?” Dorian asked as he and Tre set off toward the square. “What are you really up to?”

“Just follow me,” said Tre. “I think you’re going to like this.”

“A phrase I’ll never pass down.”

Tre scanned the square and saw Ponchard resting in the shade of an alcove directly across from them. Dorian was looking around at the various shops and stalls, and didn’t seem to notice him as they approached. That is, until Ponchard called out:

“Inquisitor? Good, this is exactly what I was hoping for!”

Dorian stopped in his tracks, flying out a hand to grab at Tre’s arm

“What?” he said angrily enough that Tre felt caught off guard. “Is _that_ why we’re here?”

Tre didn’t know what to say. He looked from Dorian to Ponchard and back again.

“I said I wanted to do this myself,” Dorian hissed. “I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, least of all you.”

 _What exactly was that supposed to mean?_ thought Tre. _Least of all me?_

“I apologize, but that won’t be possible,” said Ponchard at regular volume before Tre had a chance to retort, clearly having overheard. He took a couple of steps toward them and continued: “Do forgive me, Inquisitor, but when I heard of your...association with Monsieur Pavus, I could not resist. It’s not coin I seek for the amulet, but influence. Influence you have that the young man does not. That is provided that you want the amulet for your friend?”

Tre wasn’t sure what to do in that moment. Sure, he had expected some resistance from Dorian for his interference, but he hadn’t expected _anger_. He always suspected that Dorian put up a stubborn front so as to not appear weak or in need of help, but thought that if the help came without his having to ask, Dorian would appreciate it all the same. The intensity of his reaction had thrown Tre.

“Aren’t you a merchant?” he said after a moment, turning away from Dorian. “Why not just sell it back?”

“I am not a fence, Monsieur!” said Ponchard dramatically. “I only bought your friend’s amulet because of what it is. I do business in the Imperium. Having a birthright, even one not your own, is most useful in...select situations.”

“Hmpf,” Dorian grunted under his breath. “He’s got the right of it there.”

“That’s why I gave the young man so much. If he relinquished it, how is that my doing?"

“You want something from me,” said Tre, wanting to cut to the point. “What is it?”

Ponchard went on to explain his desire to join the League of Celestine, which refused to let him join due to his lack of lineage. He believed that if the Inquisitor put pressure on them, they would change their minds.

“What do you think, Dorian?” Tre asked when Ponchard had finished. He wanted to communicate to Dorian that he was trying to work _with_ him. He wasn’t trying to play the hero, he just wanted to do something _nice_. And Tre had influence where Dorian didn’t -- that didn’t mean that Dorian was incapable without Tre. But why choose to climb a mountain with your bare hands if your friend offers you rope?

Dorian gave him a long look, his face hard as stone.

“Leave the man be,” he said eventually. “I got myself into this, I should get myself out of it.”

“Perhaps you should accept your friend’s help, Monsieur,” said Ponchard, with slimy charm.

“ _Kaffas_!” Dorian swore in Tevene. “I know what you think, and he’s not my friends, he’s… “

Tre looked at Dorian sharply. What did Dorian mean by that, exactly? Not friends, because Dorian was too mad at him to want to be close to him anymore? Or not friends because they were definitively something more? Dorian had turned to meet Tre’s gaze almost immediately after breaking off his sentence; his expression was still angry, but there was something else there, too -- fear?

“Never mind what he is,” mumbled Dorian, breaking eye contact.

“As you desire,” said Ponchard haughtily. “Even so, that is the price. I shall accept no other.”

“Very well. I’ll do as you ask,” Tre said, still looking at Dorian’s profile.

“What?!” snapped Dorian, looking at him once more, all traces of anything but anger gone from his expression. “You’re going to give in to this cretin?”

“Do you want your amulet back?” Tre snapped. His harsh tone seemed to catch Dorian by surprise.

“I...yes, I do,” he stumbled. “I simply--”

“Much obliged, Your Worship,” said Ponchard, cutting Dorian off, clearly eager to finalize their deal. “The moment I receive an invitation from the League, I’ll have the amulet delivered. It’s been an honor doing business with you.”

Ponchard de Liuex bowed low, and Dorian stormed away before he had straightened again.

“Influence-mongering,” Dorian was saying under his breath when Tre had caught up to him. “I didn’t want to be in your debt,” said Dorian, refusing to look at him. “I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt.”

“You don’t think--”

“I don’t want to discuss it,” said Dorian curtly, cutting him off and quickening his pace, leaving Tre standing alone in the square.

* * *

 

This was not what Dorian had signed up for. Sex? Yes. Obvious gestures of caring? Absolutely not. That opened doors that Dorian had had zero intention of going anywhere near. Dorian had told Tre to stay out of the whole amulet business for a reason. Didn’t Tre know that Dorian was already in dangerous waters when it came to his developing feelings? Didn’t he know that Dorian was already starting to care about him too much?

Didn’t Tre know the world they lived in?

And what was Dorian supposed to do to repay this? Dorian was a broken man. The Inquisitor deserved better.

Dorian bought a bottle of wine and drank from it as he sat on the docks and looked out over the water.

He had never intended it to go this far -- it was only supposed to be about sex. Why did Mercutio have to keep being so _caring_ and  _tender_. It was maddening.

Maybe it was time to give up on the whole ordeal. Maybe Dorian needed to step away. Though even as he thought this, Dorian’s heart began to ache. This was horrible, all of the things he was feeling, and it had been horrible for weeks. How anyone could stand feeling like this, let alone glorifying it in stories…

Not that he was feeling anything akin to what was in the stories, of course…

Dorian took another long drink and watched the sun set.

He was quite drunk when he stumbled into the dark interior of the inn hours later.

“‘M witha Inquishishon,” Dorian slurred to the owner of the inn.

There was no answer.

“‘Sno need to be _rude_ ,” said Dorian. “Say somfing.”

“It can’t say anything, Dorian,” said a voice. “It’s a coat rack.”

Dorian blinked, his eyes adjusting.

“Ah,” he said. “So it is.”

“Where have you been?” said the voice.

Dorian looked around wildly, but couldn’t find the source of the voice.

“Down here, you asshole.”

“Varric!” said Dorian brightly, looking down and seeing him.

“Sparkler, what happened? Tre came back hours ago, but he didn’t talk to anyone, just went straight to his room.”

“‘Snone of your buishness,” said Dorian.

“Well, whatever it was, he looked pretty upset,” said Varric, frowning.

Dorian shrugged, but the motion was enough to set him off balance, and he tumbled into the coat rack, knocking it over.

“Okay,” said Varric, sighing heavily. “Well, my plan _was_ going to be attempting to use my incredibly charming persuasive skills to get you two to talk it out, but I can see now that would be an unwise course of action.”

“Too many words,” said Dorian. He began to slide down the wall toward the floor.

“Nope,” said Varric, pushing him back up against the wall with all his weight. “Even if I’m decently certain you’re the one in the wrong here, I’m not going to let Tre find you passed out drunk in the entryway. C’mon, Sparkler, lean on me, let’s get you to bed.”

They made their way slowly, Dorian more or less using Varric as a cane. In his future state of sobriety, if he remembered this, he would have a lot of apologizing to do.

“That’s it,” said Varric, helping Dorian through the door. “We were only supposed to be sharing a room under pretense,” Varric murmured as he dumped Dorian onto one of the two small beds in the room.

Dorian lied on his back and looked at the ceiling, which seemed to be spinning. He closed his eyes, but the spinning feeling persisted. He hadn’t been this level of drunk in a long time. He heard Varric leave the room, then return a few moments later. Dorian opened his eyes enough to see that Varric has put a glass of water on the bedside table for him before crawling into his own bed.

“Varric?” said Dorian, and he was horrified to hear the catch in his voice.

“Yeah, Sparkler?” said Varric gently.

“I really am an asshole.”

“I know, Sparkler. Get some sleep, we’ll figure it out in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I made myself sad :(


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been away forever! The good news is that I've written quite a bit, so the chapter after this one should be up shortly <3

Dorian awoke the next morning with the worst headache of his life. He groaned, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rolling onto his side.

“Glad to see you’re alive,” said Varric, his voice  _ far _ louder than Dorian thought was necessary. “You could have saved yourself some pain if you had drank that water last night.”

Dorian squinted one of his eyes open, spotted the water, reached for it, and downed half of the glass in one go.

“Don’t make yourself puke, I’m not dealing with that this morning.”

Dorian sat up on the bed slowly, swinging his legs around to bring his feet to the floor and resting his elbows on his knees while he massaged his temples with his fingertips. Varric was fully dressed, sitting on top of the covers on his bed, propped up on pillows and writing.

“What time is it?” Dorian asked, his throat scratchy. The night before was mostly a blur -- he only had the vaguest memory of Varric helping him to bed. “I’m...sorry, by the way. About...you know.”

“I know,” said Varric dryly, still not looking up. “I also know I’m not the only one you should be saying that to.”

“Where is he?” Dorian asked quietly.

“To answer your first question, it’s almost mid-day. Which leads to the second -- he and Josephine left to meet with the Comte over an hour ago. Cassandra tagged along to keep watch outside -- you know how paranoid she can be.”

“And you?”

“Offered to stay back and make sure you weren’t in a coma.”

“Does he know--”

“That you were stinking drunk last night?” said Varric, finally looking up at him. He didn’t look angry, though he definitely looked annoyed. Still, he looked annoyed in the way that told Dorian he cared. “No, I told him you weren’t feeling well.”

“Thank you,” said Dorian, looking at his hands.

“That might have made it worse, though, actually. I’m pretty sure he thinks you just don’t want to talk to him. Which might be true, for all I gleaned from last night. What  _ happened _ , Dorian? You two were all ready to jump straight to the honeymoon, and instead you end up spending the night with  _ me _ ?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, we’re too much alike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Dorian.

“That you’re too good at deflecting your emotions and rationalizing yourself out of happiness,” said Varric, surprisingly stern. “I’ve been where you are, Sparkler. I know what you’re doing.”

Dorian clenched his jaw and looked away, remaining silent.

Varric sighed deeply and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he was facing Dorian, although his feet didn’t reach the floor.

“Look, I’m about to be a giant hypocrite, so I’m only going to say this once. Listen closely.”

Dorian turned his head back toward Varric, though still kept his gaze firmly on the floor.

“You deserve to be happy, Dorian. Stop punishing yourself.”

 

* * *

 

Of course the Comte would have been locked in a cupboard and replaced by an assassin.  _ Of course _ . It was just that sort of week.

Following Josephine’s lead, Tre let the man go, although he was already regretting that decision. Tre could only hope the warning the assassin had given them really was a sincere gesture -- but still, the way he spoke so casually about his duty to murder Josephine left Tre’s blood running cold. He felt even more paranoid than usual as he walked with Josephine out of the building. He kept a hand on her elbow (despite her protests), and his other firmly on one of the throwing daggers in his belt. When they reached Cassandra, Tre saw that she had been joined by Varric and Dorian. Tre paused for the briefest of moments before continuing forward to meet them, still holding tightly to Josephine (though suddenly it felt more for his own sake than for hers).

Tre didn’t make eye contact with Dorian, although he could tell Dorian was looking at him. He recounted for them all quickly and quietly what had transpired.

“An assassin?!” said Dorian, too loudly. 

Tre finally looked at him, widening his eyes in warning and briefly darting his gaze around to make sure they weren’t being overheard.

“Sorry,” said Dorian softly. “Are you okay?”

Tre didn’t answer him.

“We’re going to figure this out, okay Josephine?” Tre said, turning to her.

“Yes, of course,” said Josephine in the manner she always spoke -- strong, calm, confident. The only thing betraying her fear was the smallest quiver to her voice. Her unending show of courage filled Tre with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. He put his arm around her and hugged her to his side.

“The most important thing is getting out of here and on the road back to Skyhold as quickly as we can -- I want to put as much distance between us and the House of Repose as possible.”

They were leaving the city within the hour, during which Tre refused to let Josephine out of his sight. However brave of a front Josephine was putting on, he was frightened for her. Tre was used to his friends being in danger, but with Josephine it felt different -- she wasn’t usually in the line of fire. She was someone Tre had been able to depend on from the very beginning, someone he could always count on to be there when he got back from whatever deadly encounter they had been tasked. When everyone else seemed to rely on him, Josephine acted like an older sister, someone who he could lean on without judgement or complication. He couldn’t imagine losing her.

And suddenly, horrifyingly, Tre felt his throat close up and pressure build behind his eyes.

“Inquisitor -- Mercutio, are you alright?” Josephine asked him softly. They were riding in the middle of the group, with Cassandra taking the lead, and Dorian and Varric a little ways behind.

Tre worried if he tried to speak, the floodgates would open. What was wrong with him?

“It’s just been -- a rough few days,” he managed eventually. Then, after a couple deep breaths: “But I should be asking you that.”

“Well -- I have certainly been better,” said Josephine grimly. “But I haven’t lost hope. I’ve seen you do the impossible, Inquisitor. Next to rifts in the sky, a group of assassins isn’t so bad.”

“Well, the rifts will have to wait,” said Tre, gathering his composure. “The Inquisition would quite literally fall apart without you -- you die, so does the rest of the world.”

“You do me too much credit, Inquisitor,” said Josephine. “But thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They rode well into the night, changing formation whenever the road was wide enough that Josephine could be covered from all sides. Dorian welcomed the distraction, and kept his eyes scanning their surroundings, ready at any sign of danger to cast a barrier. Still, his eyes occasionally wandered to Tre, if only for fleeting moments; Dorian could tell by the twitchiness of his movements that Tre was on edge much more than usual. 

When they finally stopped to sleep, Tre suggested that they partner up on watch instead of taking their usual singular shifts, as extra precaution in case someone tried to sneak up on them.

“Great idea, Cassandra and I will take first watch!” Varric interjected before Tre had even finished his sentence.

“We will?” said Cassandra, glaring at him suspiciously.

Dorian glared, too. He knew what Varric was up to, and he appreciated it, but he did wish the dwarf would be a little less obvious.

“No, I’ll take first watch,” said Tre. He sounded exhausted but stern. “I’m not going to be able to sleep anyway. Varric --”

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m pretty exhausted,” said Varric, yawning dramatically and stepping on Dorian’s foot. Dorian considered casting “horror” on him -- but then remembered how Varric had taken care of him the night before, and the talk they’d had earlier that morning. So, instead of fighting it, Dorian took the bait.

“I’m not tired,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ll join you.”

Tre looked at Dorian and held his gaze, though Dorian couldn’t read his expression. Finally,  Tre nodded, then walked to sit on a nearby rock. Varric gave an encouraging shove  to Dorian’s lower back, and he followed. Dorian sat on the opposite side of the rock so that his and Tre’s backs were facing each other, a few inches from touching. They sat silently as the other three huddled close together, settling down for sleep. It was a cold night and they were without a fire in order to stay as unnoticed as possible. It was uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally. Varric, Cassandra, and Josephine had been asleep for half-an-hour, and still neither Dorian nor Tre had uttered a single word. 

Then Tre moved suddenly, standing up. Dorian flinched and moved to action.

“What is it?” Dorian hissed, spinning around at attention.  
But Tre wasn’t posed for a fight. Instead, he was taking off his cloak and walking over to Josephine, who Dorian could see now was shivering visibly in her sleep. Tre laid his cloak over her, then returned to his station on the rock.

“Won’t you be cold?” Dorian asked quietly.

Tre shrugged, his back still to Dorian.

“You’re really worried about her,” said Dorian softly.

“I’ve never had a friend like her,” said Tre.

“What about me?” said Dorian, with an attempt at sparking their usual banter.

“Oh, are we friends now?” said Tre sardonically. “I wasn’t aware.”

It took Dorian a moment to figure out what Tre was saying, and then he remembered:

_ He’s not my friend, he’s...Nevermind what he is. _

“Okay,” said Dorian slowly, turning back around so that he and Tre were facing opposite directions once more. “I deserved that.”

They didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, Dorian murmured as softly as he could:  
“I only meant that it’s complicated. ‘Friend’ doesn’t suffice.”

Even though they weren’t touching, Dorian felt Tre still behind him. Dorian didn’t know how he wanted Tre to respond -- or if he wanted him to respond at all. He was still so confused, so worried about being vulnerable, so scared of how Tre made him feel. Because it wouldn’t last -- how could it? Mercutio Trevelyan was a saint of a man, too humble for the grand space he had begun taking up in the world. How could a person like that want to be with someone like  _ him _ ? The evil magister, who now, above everything else, was garnering favors from him? They would say Dorian was  _ using _ him, and what if Mercutio started to believe them? What if Dorian couldn’t express himself enough to --

Dorian heard the softest sigh, then felt Mercutio rest his back against his -- and Dorian knew this was exactly the response he needed. He didn’t need or want to talk anymore. He just wanted to feel the weight of Mercutio pressed against him. He felt in that contact understanding, a silent confirmation that they were on the same page. Maybe Mercutio could understand now why Dorian didn’t want him to send the letter to help Ponchard, why declaring his attachment to Dorian in such a public way was dangerous for his reputation as Inquisitor. Dorian pressed back, so that they were leaning on each other. He let his hand wander slightly behind him until he found Mercutio’s, and entwined their fingers together. They didn’t speak for the rest of their shift.

And when Varric and Cassandra woke to relive them, they lied together, maintaining contact, Dorian sharing a little of the warmth he had to give.


	8. Chapter 8

They didn’t speak of the previous night, though they repeated the routine twice more before reaching Skyhold: Staying up for first watch, backs pressed together, hands held, not speaking. Sleeping huddled together. Saying it was for warmth, but knowing there was something more. Tre had been hurt and angry with Dorian for how he reacted in Val Royeaux. He was embarrassed with himself, too, that he had stayed up in his room for hours into the night, hoping that Dorian would still come to him in spite of their disagreement. When he didn’t, Tre had thought briefly that the romance was over for them before it had even fully began.

But then, on the rock...

It wasn’t much, Dorian’s admission that he cared about Tre as more than just a friend that he wanted to screw -- but it was something. And Tre was surprised by how much his feelings for Dorian grounded him on the trip back to Skyhold. Whereas in the Fallow Mire thoughts of Dorian were a dangerous distraction, in this case, with Dorian beside him, he felt (he didn’t have another word for it) secure. It reminded Tre that it wasn’t only Josephine that he could lean on. On those nights with Dorian, he knew that someone unequivocally (and literally) had his back.

It seemed that the assassin from the House of Repose had held true to his word and they reached Skyhold safely. Maybe Tre had been overreacting by insisting two people stand watch (though, truthfully, he had known that by the second night). Still, Tre knew that this reprieve would not last long. As soon as they reached Skyhold, Tre dismounted, left his and Josephine’s horses for the others to take care of, and rushed straight to Leliana, who of course already knew about everything that had happened and was planning a plot to destroy the Du Paraquette’s contract on Josephine’s life. Josephine objected, immediately countering with her own plan to elevate one of the Du Paraquettes to be a member of the gentry in hopes of convincing them to drop the contract. Both women turned to Tre expectantly, waiting for him to pick a side.

“Let me consider it,” said Tre, rubbing his temples. “For now, Leliana, can I trust you’re vetting everyone who comes through the keep's doors?”

“Vigorously,” said Leliana.

“Josephine, why don’t you go get some rest--”

“Rest?!” she said indignantly. “There’s too much to do! First we need to perform some favors in Val Royeaux, then --”

“Josie,” said Tre, taking her by the shoulders. “Take a break.”

Josephine huffed, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

“Good,” said Tre, letting her go.

“I want a guard at her door day and night,” said Tre to Leliana once Josephine was out of earshot. “Only people you trust implicitly.”

“Of course,” said Leliana.

“And -- on a completely different, and far less life-threatening matter: I talked to Ponchard about Dorian’s amulet. He wants me to get him into the Celestine League.”

“That’s it?” said Leliana, and she sounded disappointed. “You’re the most influential man in Thedas, and he only wants entry to a club?”

Tre shrugged.

“Couldn’t he have gotten in with Dorian’s amulet?” Tre asked curiously.

Leliana considered this for a moment.

“It’s possible,” she said. “But unlikely. The Celestine League generally only accepts people based on their bloodline, less so on their status or connections. As the Inquisitor, you’re a rare exception to this. But, no, Ponchard would have used the amulet’s influence in other ways -- to facilitate contracts, perhaps.”

“How so?” asked Tre. “I still don’t really understand how having someone else’s proof of bloodline could be helpful.”

“Well, usually the only reason someone would pass along their birthright amulet would be as a gift to their lover --”

“ _What?!”_

The jealousy that shot through Tre was sudden, white-hot, and completely irrational. And so he wasn’t entirely aware of his feet moving until he was already halfway down the stairs.

He ran into Dorian just as he was entering the library.

“Ponchard was trying to pass himself off as your lover?” Tre hissed, pulling Dorian into the alcove.

“Oh, didn’t I mention that?” said Dorian lightly.

“No!” said Tre indignantly.

“Does that bother you, Inquisitor?” said Dorian, his eyes full of his old mischievous fire.

“I...maybe,” Tre stammered. “You...didn’t--?”

“Sleep with Ponchard?!” said Dorian with amused outrage. “Maker, no! I do have _some_ standards.”

“Why would Ponchard want to say that you did?”

“Well, he wouldn’t have, in so many words,” said Dorian. “In Tevinter, relationships between two people of the same sex are never to be talked about implicitly. Showing a birthright is a much more subtle way to get across the nature of your connection to a person without having to speak of it. And if that birthright belongs to someone of high enough prestige...Well, it won’t work everywhere, but in choice situations it can be rather influential.”

Tre crossed his arms and grimaced.

“You really _are_ jealous,” said Dorian. He sounded delighted.

“Don’t gloat,” said Tre.

“Aren’t you glad now that you’ve changed your mind about helping that little vermin?” said Dorian smugly.

“What? I haven’t changed my mind,” said Tre, confused. “If anything I’m more determined now. Where did you get that idea?”

Dorian’s brow creased.

“I thought...those nights on watch, I thought we’d reached some kind of understanding,” said Dorian, his tone becoming more stern.

“About the amulet? We barely spoke five words to each other!”

“An _unspoken_ understanding, then,” said Dorian.

“I thought we’d reached an unspoken understanding, yes, but I didn’t think it was about the blighted _amulet_!”

“Mercutio, _let this go_. Don’t write the Celestine League.”

“You’re serious?” said Tre, sounding dumbfounded. “You’re willing to just let Ponchard strut around the countryside claiming you as his lover?”

“It doesn’t matter! We have been _over_ this! This is _my_ problem, I’ll figure it out _on my own_!”

“It matters to _me_ ! And we’ve been over _this_ : you can’t get the bloody amulet back without me!”

“Only because you forcibly inserted yourself into a problem where you _don’t belong_!”

“It’s done, Dorian, drop it! Leliana is sending the letter.”

“You’re infuriating,” hissed Dorian, running his hands through his hair.

“You’re insufferable,” snapped Tre, and he stormed down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Between strategizing on how to stop the imminent assassinations of both Josephine and Empress Celine, Tre found it easy to distract himself over the next couple of days. He didn’t see Dorian at all -- though, then again, he hadn’t seen anyone that wasn’t Cullen, Josephine, or Leliana. He was practically living in the war room or at Josephine’s desk. On the third day of this, Leliana approached Tre early in the morning while he was alone in the war room, pouring over maps. She handed him a small package.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Dorian’s amulet,” said Leliana.

“Have someone send it up to him,” said Tre, pushing the package back at her, but she wouldn’t take it.

“I think you should give it to him,” she said. “After all, he wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for you.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me,” said Tre, placing the package on the table close to Leliana and looking back down at the maps.

“Did you know the Hero of Ferelden was in love with a man?” said Leliana conversationally.

Tre’s head snapped up to look at her. _So that was true?_ he thought excitedly, and felt a warm glow in his chest, something akin to pride. It inspired Tre to know that he and the Hero of Ferelden were connected by more than just a similar thrust into leadership.

“I’d heard a rumor,” said Tre.

Leliana smiled softly. “I traveled with them both. Darrian Tabris and the man he took for his lover: an Antivan Crow assassin named Zevran. Many of our party distrusted Zevran -- myself included, I admit. Even after Zevran fought alongside Darrian to save Ferelden, we thought it could never last. But we were wrong. We’re ten years passed the Blight, and all of my reports say that Darrian and Zevran are still happily devoted to one another.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Tre.

“May I speak freely, Inquisitor?” asked Leliana hesitantly.

“Yes,” said Tre, though he found himself suddenly apprehensive.

“Darrian and Zevran almost let a piece of jewelry come between them -- an earring, as it were. It took Darrian almost dying for them to reconcile and truly realize their feelings for one another.”

Leliana picked up the package holding Dorian’s amulet and pressed it back into Tre’s hands.

“They got lucky that it wasn’t too late. These are dark times, Inquisitor. Don’t wait for death to make you realize what’s most important to you.”

Tre clutched the amulet in his hand as he watched her leave.

 

* * *

 

“I have something for you,” said Tre bluntly, walking up to the alcove as if he hadn’t been avoiding Dorian for days. “Here it is.”

Dorian had spent the last few days desperately trying to hold onto his petty anger. When he was angry with Tre, he felt like he was finally in control of his own emotions. But as Tre stood before him, that anger began to melt away. It was ridiculous, but Dorian had _missed_ him.

“Now I’m indebted to you,” Dorian said, unable to stop himself, as he accepted the amulet. “I never wanted this. I told you.”

“I didn’t do this so you would be indebted to me, Dorian!” said Tre in exasperation. “I did it for _you_!”

“That’s the problem,” said Dorian, sighing.

“How is that a problem?” said Tre, sounding almost amused through his frustration.

How could Dorian make him understand?

Dorian paced in the small alcove, still clutching the amulet in his hand, and spoke before he’d fully formed the words in his head.

“Someone intelligent would cozy up to the Inquisitor if they could. It’d be foolish not to. He can open doors, get you whatever you want. Shower you with gifts and power. That’s what they’ll say -- I’m the magister who’s using you.”

Dorian finally stopped to look at Tre and gauge his reaction. Mostly, Tre looked confused.

“I...had no idea you were concerned about that.”

“I don’t care what they think about _me_!” said Dorian, his own exasperation coming out. “I care what they think about _us_!”

There was silence as their eyes met, very much like the silence that followed Dorian’s words in Val Royeaux about Mercutio not being his friend. Dorian felt the same uncertain fear as he had felt then -- the anxiety that comes after you’ve said something you hadn’t intended to let slip past your tongue, while you’re waiting to hear your fate in the answering response.

But Dorian was confused -- because Mercutio’s face was suddenly transforming from shock at Dorian’s words to something else entirely. He was smiling -- and not just smiling, _smoldering._ Dorian felt his stomach flip.

“Is that all?” Mercutio said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “Then go ahead and use me, Dorian. Or are you all talk?”

Dorian laughed. He couldn’t help it, he was so caught off guard by Mercutio’s response. Mercutio smiled back in a self-satisfied way.

“Oh, you are glorious,” Dorian said, and he meant it. He’d never met a man who knew quite so well what Dorian needed to hear. “And I...am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts. I apologize, and thank you.”

And then they were kissing. It wasn’t as filled with heat as their first few kisses, although it wasn’t lacking in passion, either. It was just a different sort of passion: slow and full of promise. Dorian felt the fire prickling under his fingertips as he pulled Mercutio flush against him. Wrapped around Mercutio like this, Dorian felt like he was moments away from combusting completely -- and it felt so fantastic that he didn’t care. In that moment, he would let his whole self burn if he meant kissing Mercutio for just a moment longer.

“I’m going to stop before I say something syrupy,” said Dorian when they eventually pulled apart, breathless. “But I won’t forget this. And I _will_ repay you. Count on it.”

Mercutio sighed deeply.

“I _really_ wish I didn’t have to go back to the war room,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against Dorian’s.

“Yet the world needs you,” Dorian whispered back dramatically.

Mercutio laughed softly, kissed him once more, then made his way back toward the stairs, holding onto Dorian’s hand until the last possible moment.

Dorian felt lighter than he had in days. He looked down at the amulet, running his fingers across the surface. Even though at the time it had angered him, Dorian had to appreciate how, even in the midst of everything else going on in the Inquisition, Mercutio had found the time to reach out and help him. Mercutio was juggling circumventing murders, planning ways to defeat a demigod, and trying to close a gaping hole in the sky -- all while maintaining a pretty face for the nobles and never failing his friends. He was working around the clock, non-stop, barely sleeping, never taking a moment to himself.

Dorian suddenly remembered a promise he had made to himself, weeks ago, right before he had learned Mercutio’s real name.

And Dorian knew then _exactly_ how he was going to repay his debt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't decide which dialog response I liked better after the Inquisitor gives Dorian his amulet, so I thought: por qué no los dos?
> 
> Thanks as always for keeping with my extended-more-than-I-originally-intended headcanon! Next up: the good stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

“He needs a day off.”

Dorian had rushed down the stairs to catch Cullen on the parapets before he reached the castle proper. Cullen had been reading from some papers as he walked and now paused to look up at Dorian in confusion.

“What?” said Cullen.

“The Inquisitor,” said Dorian firmly. “He needs a day off. A proper day off. No one calling on him for anything.”

“What for?” said Cullen suspiciously.

“For his health, Cullen, you’re working him to death,” said Dorian.

“No other reason?” asked Cullen, smirking.

Dorian glared at him.

“Okay, okay,” said Cullen. “Though if he’s feeling stretched thin, why hasn’t he said anything?”

“Why haven’t _you_ noticed?” said Dorian, more fiercely than he’d intended. Cullen’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, Commander, that was uncalled for. It’s not like you’ve been resting much, either.”

“No apology necessary,” said Cullen. “You’re right -- whatever strain I’ve been feeling, the Inquisitor has suffered worse. He always stays in the war room later than the rest of us, and gets there before we arrive.”

“He’s been sleeping there,” said Dorian. “If he sleeps at all. I thought you’d all have figured that out by now.”

“Sleeping in the war room?!” said Cullen, sounding horrified. “How are we supposed to have him at his top form if he’s not even sleeping in a bed?”

“As I was saying,” said Dorian pointedly.

“Okay, yes,” said Cullen, sounding distracted. “I’ll talk to Josephine, get his appointments moved around. Thank you, Dorian.” He walked away, muttering “sleeping in the war room, I swear” under his breath as he went.

About an hour later, just past mid-day, Cullen approached Dorian in the Herald’s Rest, where he had been having lunch.

“I’ve talked to Leliana and Josephine, and they agree with you -- obviously. _Sleeping in the war room_. Anyway, Josephine’s cleared the Inquisitor of any necessary duties for the rest of today. She’s written a letter and placed it on the Inquisitor’s desk in his quarters -- thought it be a nice surprise. Anyway, I thought maybe you could be the one to point him there.”

Dorian stared openly -- he’d never heard Cullen say so much in such a short period of time. Indeed, the Commander looked out of breath -- had he _run_ here?

“Cullen,” Dorian said, staring at the commander in disbelief.

“Go on, then!” said Cullen eagerly. “He walked up to the raven tower with Leliana to send a letter, he’ll be walking back through the library any moment!”

“Commander -- have you been reading Varric’s books?”

“What?” said Cullen, looking sincerely caught off guard.

“Just thought I’d double check,” said Dorian under his breath. “I thought maybe they were putting ideas in your head, making you lose your marbles.”

“I’m not insane, Dorian,” said Cullen. “I’m your friend. I want you to be happy.”

Dorian looked at Cullen curiously. Theirs was a strange friendship, one that Dorian never would have predicted. And one for which he was deeply grateful.

“You’re far too invested in this,” Dorian grumbled, standing to leave.

“You’re welcome!” Cullen called as Dorian rushed into the courtyard.

* * *

Tre was greeted at the top of the library stairs by Dorian, whose smile looked even more mischievous than usual.

“Hi,” said Tre slowly, smiling curiously.

“Have you been to your quarters lately, by chance?” asked Dorian. Was it Tre’s imagination, or was he slightly out of breath?

“Not recently,” said Tre suspiciously.

“Do, when you have the time. There’s...something there that might interest you.”

Dorian stepped aside, gesturing down the stairs pointedly.

“Uh huh,” said Tre suspiciously.

Tre had been planning on returning to Josephine’s desk to help her sort through the day’s letters, but the curiosity of Dorian’s cryptic statement got the better of him. Tre passed the entrance to Josephine’s makeshift office and continued through the far door behind the throne. It was depressing how long it had been since Tre had spent a significant amount of time in his rooms -- they were _nice_ rooms. More than once, he’d tried to pass them off to Josephine or Leliana, feeling that he didn’t deserve to have so much space when he spent such little time there.

Tre stopped to look around. He wasn’t sure what he should be expecting -- everything looked the same as he remembered. He walked further into the room and noticed a letter lying on his desk. Leaning over the chair, Tre saw that it was a message from Josephine, informing him that he had been cleared of all duties for the rest of the day, and for the following day, with a mandate that he use the days for “leisure time.”  Tre smiled incredulously as he read the note. Who…?

But then Tre heard footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. Tre smiled in an “I-should-have-known” manner as Dorian began to speak.

“So,” Dorian said as he slowly walked into the room. The pace of Tre’s heart began to quicken. “It’s all very nice, this flirting business. I, however, am not a nice man. So here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move onto something more...primal.”

Dorian stroked his mustache as he spoke, and Tre couldn’t help but roll his eyes and laugh. This was all so _Dorian_.

“It’ll set tongues wagging, of course,” continued Dorian with the same dramatic flair as he prowled closer. Tre was breathing more quickly now, too. “Not that they aren’t already wagging. I suppose it really depends,” Dorian had circled around behind him, and Tre closed his eyes as he felt Dorian’s breath on his neck. “How bad does the Inquisitor want to be?”

It felt like their first kiss all over again, and they weren’t even touching. Tre’s whole body felt alive with electricity. It was taking everything in him to appear as nonchalant as Dorian.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, keeping his voice as even as he could.

“I like playing hard to get,” said Dorian, and Tre could hear the smile in his voice.

“And now?”

“I’m gotten.”

Tre turned, Dorian caught him, and their kiss was the meaning of desperation. They clawed at each other, mouths crashing together. Tre allowed his fingers to twine into Dorian’s hair as Dorian sucked on the place just below his ear. He melted into Dorian, and never wanted it to end.

 _Finally_ , he thought on repeat. _Finally._

* * *

 

Dorian was actually panting. He felt drugged, his brain was so flooded with the image of the man standing in front of him, bare of all clothing.

 _Finally_.

The desperation had continued to build between them. Dorian knew they weren’t going to last long, though they had yet to reach the bed. This was partly due to the desire to strip Tre of his clothing as quickly as possible with minimal delay. But Dorian knew there was something else at play in the back of his mind -- there was something about the bed that felt distinctly intimate. Dorian had never actually had sex _in_ a bed before. Against a bed, yes. Under a bed, once (that was a feat). On many non-bed surfaces. Never in a place that would invite comfort in a way that would encourage the occupants to stay together longer than was necessary.

So it felt far more normal for Dorian to spin Tre around and press him against the desk. Tre didn’t object -- he bent himself happily over the surface, reaching to the other side and searching through the top drawer. He handed Dorian a bottle of oil, and as Dorian poured some over his fingers, he felt faint. He couldn’t remember ever feeling a lust this intense. He prepared Tre as he lay bent over the desk, trying to slow his thoughts so that he didn’t come just to the sensations of his fingers two-knuckles deep into the (Maker, help him) Herald of Andraste; or to the sounds Tre was making as he pushed himself backwards, forcing Dorian’s fingers deeper still.

Dorian groaned and pulled Tre upright. Tre made to move toward the bed, and Dorian stopped him.

“Wait, if you put your leg here -- no, _there_ ,” said Dorian pushing Tre back to the desk and trying to maneuver him into place for a particularly intricate position he’d read about once. “Like...no, like this, and then your other leg goes there, wait no, there -- is this sturdy enough?”

“Dorian,” said Tre sternly, sliding off the desk and turning, pulling Dorian flush against him and growling against his mouth, “ _just fuck me._ ”

It might have been the way Tre had spoken the words as if he was uttering an Inquisition order; it might have been that all of the blood had been steadily rushing from Dorian’s head into his groin ever since he had entered the room. It was probably a combination of both. Either way, Dorian could have sworn he blacked out for a minute.

Next thing he knew, Tre’s legs were around his waist and Dorian was pinning him to the mattress. Dorian fumbled for the oil he had only just managed to keep a hold onto, his hands shaking as he poured some excess onto himself. Mercutio’s eyes fluttered and his head fell backwards against the bed as Dorian pushed into him, feeling like he might black out again. They moved slowly at first, but soon Mercutio’s heels were digging into the small of Dorian’s back, urging him faster, and before long Dorian was following Inquisition orders to his fullest enthusiastic capability.

The intensity built to a blinding degree. Dorian felt the fire at his fingertips, and dug his hands into the bedding on either side of Mercutio, just in case he lost control. Mercutio was making the most heavenly noises, moaning Dorian’s name. And then he was reaching back, hands grasping at the headboard, his arms deliciously taut with muscle, back arching, and mouth open. As Mercutio came, Dorian knew that with that image he would have masturbation material for the rest of his life.

Dorian buried his face into Mercutio’s neck, finally letting himself go, barely even registering that he had been moaning out phrases in his native tongue. His vision went temporarily white as the waves of pleasure hit him.

They lay still for a moment, then Dorian rolled off of Mercutio onto the other side of the bed. They were staring up at the ceiling, both breathing hard, when seemingly out of nowhere Mercutio started laughing. At first, Dorian wasn’t sure what to think about that -- until they locked eyes, and Dorian saw the pure _joy_ emanating from Mercutio’s face. His laugh was deep and infectious, and Dorian found himself laughing, too. Then they were kissing again, Mercutio wrapping himself around Dorian.

“What’s ‘amatus’?” asked Mercutio suddenly, breaking their kiss.

Dorian felt his stomach flip.

“What?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

“I couldn’t understand anything you were saying at the end there -- but you said that one word over and over.”

“It’s....Tevene,” said Dorian vaguely.

“I gathered as much, yes,” said Mercutio, pulling himself closer to Dorian once more and growling against his neck. “But what does it mean?”

“We’re a mess, do you have any towels?” said Dorian, extricating himself from Mercutio and standing up quickly.

“Back in the alcove behind the dresser,” said Mercutio slowly, his tone not quite hurt, but a little questioning.

Dorian cleaned himself off, taking a moment in the alcove to try and sort through his thoughts. He felt vulnerable and exposed, least of all because he was naked. Even if he didn’t tell Mercutio what “amatus” meant, he would find out soon enough on his own. And when he did, all of the things Dorian had been trying to deny for the past month would be out in the open. And what then?

Dorian didn’t want to think about it.

He walked back to the bed, handing Mercutio a towel, although he didn’t rejoin him, instead walking to the middle of the room and looking around with interest.

“I like your quarters,” said Dorian conversationally.

“Do you now?” said Mercutio suspiciously.

“Don’t misunderstand,” said Dorian quickly. “I’m not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity. I just like your appointments.”

“Ah,” said Mercutio dryly.

“Not that I couldn’t suggest some changes. Your taste is a little...austere.”

“You seem a little...distracted,” said Mercutio curiously, his eyes narrowing.

“Sex will do that,” said Dorian, sitting on the end of the bed and smiling suggestively in an attempt to dissuade Mercutio’s attempts at getting him to talk. “It’s distracting.”

“I heard a rumor,” said Mercutio. Everything about his expression and tone said that he was not going to let Dorian off the hook so easily.

“Very well, you’ve rooted me out. There is something I want,” said Dorian, looking away and considering his words carefully and trying to sound as detached as he could. “I’m...curious where this goes, you and I. We’ve had fun, perfectly reasonable to leave it here, get on with the business of killing archdemons and such…”

Mercutio moved as Dorian spoke, swinging his legs around and coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He was looking at Dorian curiously.

“Tell me what _you_ want,” he said after a pause.

“All on me, then?”

“Should it be all on me?”

 _Damn him_ , thought Dorian. Mercutio was the first person Dorian had ever met that pushed back so often and so insistently against Dorian’s attempts to get the emotional upper-hand. He challenged Dorian, refused to give up on him, refused to let him just walk away. Mercutio _terrified_ Dorian. How did this happen? The way it had started out, Mercutio had been the one fawning over Dorian, drooling at his feet like a puppy. But Dorian was forced to consider now (and the irony of it struck him in the chest like a blow from a hammer): How much was Mercutio’s interest just about sex? Because however this had started, Dorian had to admit to himself at long last that he wanted _more_. But if Mercutio didn’t, Dorian needed to stop this as soon as possible. He was already in too deep.

“I like you,” said Dorian, sighing and looking at the floor. “More than I should. More than might be wise. We end it here, I walk away. I won’t be pleased, but I’d rather now than later. Later...might be dangerous.”

“Why dangerous?” asked Mercutio quietly.

Did he really not know what Dorian was talking about? Had this always been so easy for him? Or was he just trying to get Dorian to admit to the thing that scared him most?

“Walking away...might be harder then,” Dorian said, closing his eyes and turning away.

“I want more than just fun, Dorian,” said Mercutio, as if it had been obvious this whole time. And maybe for someone who wasn’t Dorian, it would have been. Dorian, however, felt his breath catch. He stared at Mercutio, his lips parted but no sound coming out.

“Speechless, I see,” said Mercutio, amused.

“I was...expecting something different,” said Dorian quietly. “Where I come from, anything between two men...it’s about pleasure. It’s accepted, but taken no further. You learn not to hope for more. It’d be foolish to.”

“So let’s _be_ foolish,” said Mercutio, his smile conspiratorial as he leaned toward Dorian.

“Hard habit to break,” said Dorian.

“I’m good at breaking things.”

Mercutio was trying to spark their usual comfortable banter, and Dorian was grateful for it. Still, his answering retort of “Hopefully not everything,” sounded more raw and vulnerable than he’d meant for it to. Mercutio looked like he wanted to respond, but Dorian cut him off before he had a chance.

“Care to...inquisit me again?” said Dorian, lightening his tone. Honestly, he’d had enough feelings-talk for one night -- he had other things in mind. “I’ll be more specific in my directions this time.”

“Show off,” said Mercutio, laughing. His expression was mocking, but there was challenge there, too.

Dorian smiled as he kissed him.

* * *

Whispered through the darkness, hours later:

“I like how you said my name that time.”

“It’s a good name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things:
> 
> Firstly: ALWAYS practice safe sex, friends. It's hard to include in a fic based in a fantasy world where latex isn't necessarily a thing, and going into a history lesson about the use of sheep stomach as condoms in the olden days (yes, that's real) sort of takes the sexy out of a scene. But always assume that these characters are having fully protected sexy-funtimes, whatever headcanon that takes for you. And IRL, play safe! Love doesn't protect you from STDs.
> 
> Secondly: This is the end of this particular fic, but I'm far from done with these two! I'm wrapping it up for now, but stay tuned, as this will likely turn into a series.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading <3


End file.
